


Sometimes Life Can Be a Real Beach

by My_Alter_Ego



Series: White Collar Discussions [14]
Category: White Collar
Genre: Gen, Mistrust, Saving a Relationship, Taking a Risk, Theft of an Opal
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-14
Updated: 2019-12-14
Packaged: 2021-02-25 05:20:51
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,150
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21790702
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/My_Alter_Ego/pseuds/My_Alter_Ego
Summary: This fiction highlights the tension that kept building in Season 3 and culminated in the last episode called “Judgement Day” when Neal flees to Cape Verde. This is written from Peter’s perspective and, if you squint, you may see the foreshadowing of a Peter/Neal dynamic. Peter’s intentions and his future plans begin over a quiet lunch and a conversation with Neal.
Relationships: Peter Burke & Neal Caffrey, Peter Burke & Philip Kramer
Series: White Collar Discussions [14]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1472945
Comments: 6
Kudos: 29





	Sometimes Life Can Be a Real Beach

Peter Burke always knew that supervising Neal Caffrey while he was on parole would be challenging. Actually, as time went on, Peter came to equate that feat with trying to hold quicksilver in his hands. The perceptive and vigilant FBI Agent suspected that Neal usually had his own agenda and kept a multitude of secrets from his handler, and many times, the two partners were at cross purposes. Sometimes, Peter looked the other way, and sometimes he just couldn’t. When Peter examined his own behavior, he began to realize that he was more deeply invested in his CI than he should have been. During nights of quiet introspection, a sleepless man wondered if maybe a kind of fondness was slowly morphing into something deeper. Peter found himself too much of a coward to give that emotion a name. Perhaps Neal was aware of Peter’s feelings, or maybe he was oblivious. If he was aware, maybe he just didn’t care. That’s what made Neal’s blasé forays into the forbidden so painful for Peter.

Now, paradoxically, Peter was the one shouldering a lot of guilt for his recent actions. After tension kept mounting between the FBI agent and his CI, Peter had stepped back and called for a second opinion from someone he greatly admired. That had been a terrible misstep on his part because Philip Kramer was determined to take Neal down by whatever means necessary. After that lapse in judgment, Peter was completely miserable. Wasn’t there an old song that claimed, _“You Always Hurt the One You Love?”_ Unfortunately, now that a Pandora’s Box had been opened, Peter didn’t think it was possible to slam it shut once again. Neal was in jeopardy because Peter had pushed the throttle and there was no way to stop this runaway train.

Neal had to have intuited that Peter looked upon Kramer as reinforcement troops in a crusade to put him back in prison. Peter knew that wasn’t really Kramer’s intent. The wily old man wanted Neal for himself in Washington, DC, but Peter definitely didn’t want to share. Of course, a reticent handler kept that knowledge to himself. He didn’t realize that Neal had overheard the conversation between himself and Kramer, nor that the knowledge was what set the undertone in their day-to-day interactions. Nonetheless, a wary Neal played his part perfectly without a crack in his façade. With a smile on his face, he kept helping Peter to solve crimes.

The latest case was an interesting one with a novel twist. The White Collar Unit was investigating the theft of an immense and precious Australian opal recently mined in the silica-enriched Coober Pedy region in the southern part of the vast continent. Weighing in at 9,000 carats, and with a polished length and width of 4”x5” respectively, it wasn’t your ordinary little iridescent trinket. The word on the street was that this magnificent prize had made its way to the United States and, specifically, to New York City. Those knowledgeable street contacts could produce more gossip than a hen party of housewives, so eventually a name surfaced.

Edward Granville was a middle-aged stockbroker with an office on Wall Street. Apparently, he was doing very well for himself if his outward appearance and lifestyle were any testament to his wealth. He owned a brownstone on the Upper East Side and a rambling summer home in the Hamptons. He had a Tesla, a Rolls Royce, and a pristinely restored Chevy Corvette circa 1970 housed in a garage next to his white catamaran. He wore suits that had been purchased and tailored in London, and he smoked Cuban cigars flown in from Havana. The pretentious buffoon was the whole nuevo riche package, and almost a cliché as he frequented New York’s hot spots with a twenty-something former model on his arm. They had been married less than a year, and it was said that she had expensive tastes as well.

Peter and Neal decided to go on the offensive when they arrived, unannounced, on Granville’s doorstep. Peter produced his credentials with a flourish and a somber Bureau expression on his face as he engaged the Wall Street guru in a discussion about stolen jewelry. Meanwhile, Neal was casually strolling around the huge top floor office with a panoramic plate glass view. From way up here in the ether, Granville could look down on the lowly toiling peasants on the streets below him. The entire office space was luxury all the way, most likely professionally engineered and decorated by a top firm in the city. The walls were a rich Brazilian cherry hardwood with complicated dentil molding, and the ceiling was trayed with cleverly recessed lighting. Neal recognized several pieces of contemporary art done by Gerhard Richter, a German painter, and homegrown artisan, Jeff Koons, hanging prominently on the walls. Their works had recently sold at auction for millions. Neal would need a closer look to satisfy his curiosity if they were authentic, but he suspected they were the real deal.

The most interesting and eye-catching thing in the space was a large sort of kinetic structure—a sizable aquarium nestled into a paneled niche that took up one wall. Neal ambled closer and realized that the small aquatic denizens darting around waving seaweed, ceramic arches, and through an intricate miniature castle in the sand were really baby piranha, the carnivorous species of marine life found in the Amazon Basin of South America. Neal was bending close to observe them when Granville approached.

“Pretty exotic, don’t you think?” he asked Neal casually.

“I’d have to agree it’s not your usual goldfish bowl,” Neal smiled up at the suspect.

“I used to have a saltwater tank,” the older man stated. “It contained all kinds of beautiful and rare specimens from the oceans of the world. But then I thought, “Everybody has one of those, so I need something that everybody doesn’t have,” he crowed proudly. “I had the aquarium converted over to fresh water and then I imported some muscle fish with an attitude like these piranhas. They were taken directly from the Orinoco River in Venezuela. When they grow bigger, they’ll be very impressive.”

“And quite deadly,” Neal added. “If you put your hand in there, their teeth will strip it down to bone in a matter of seconds.”

“Well, then I guess it’s a good thing I’m a cautious man,” Granville smirked.

When Peter and Neal were once more out on the street, Neal looked thoughtful before he made his declaration. “The stolen opal is hidden inside that aquarium, Peter.”

“How did you come up with that snap conclusion?” Peter asked quizzically.

“It makes perfect sense,” Neal stated confidently. “Granville knows that gaudy bauble is really hot right now, so he needs to keep it under wraps but still close by. He probably wants to keep it hidden for the next eight months until October. I just happen to know that his current wife’s birthday is in that month, and opal is the birthstone for October.”

“That seems like a stretch,” Peter wasn’t convinced. “And sticking an extremely valuable opal into a fish tank seems a little off the wall to me.”

“It’s not really so far-fetched,” Neal disagreed. “Eons ago when water trickled down through the earth, it picked up silica from sandstone as it found its way into cracks and crevices caused by natural faults or decomposing fossils. The results are fabulous mineraloids that give off a spectrum of iridescence when exposed to natural light. That’s really the sum total of what opals are—a composition of silica and up to 25% water. Once they are removed from their niches, that water can become desiccated causing the opal to develop cracks if they are kept in a constant dry atmosphere. Some jewelers advise storing them in a damp cloth.”

“Okay, maybe your theory might hold some water, pardon the pun,” Peter grudgingly confessed.

Neal grinned. “I think Granville hit upon the perfect solution for his dilemma by converting his saltwater aquarium to fresh water. Then he placed the piranhas into the tank to stand guard like mean and menacing bouncers at a very exclusive private venue. I think we should come back with a net and have a look inside that cutesy little castle or under the sand pebbles on the bottom.”

“Neal, we don’t have any probable cause to get a search warrant,” Peter reminded his sidekick.

“Well, I’m not a Federal agent, so maybe I could sneak into his inner sanctum and have a look. And if I just happen to find some buried treasure, you can take it from there,” Neal offered magnanimously.

Peter frowned. “Right, and then Granville will hire a high-priced lawyer who will claim that you were acting as an emissary of the FBI. He’ll get everything kicked because he’ll say that we set Granville up or that you planted the evidence,” Peter said logically.

Neal shrugged. “I’m just trying to be helpful, Peter. I hope you’ll keep in mind that I’m on your side,” he added cryptically. Peter shot his CI a look and then suggested lunch before returning to the office.

Over sandwiches and coffee, Peter tried to regain the easy comradery that he and Neal once shared. “So, you seemed to recognize those South American meat eaters pretty easily, Buddy. Ever been to the Amazon rain forest in Brazil or stood on the banks of the Orinoco River in the neighboring countries?” he asked innocently to establish a dialogue that didn’t pertain to work.

“No, I haven’t,” Neal admitted. “Jungles and murky rivers infested with dangerous critters aren’t really my thing. I prefer pristine white sand beaches.”

Peter snorted. “Well, maybe you haven’t actually trekked through the interior of Brazil, but I’ll just bet that you’ve been to a beach or two in Rio, like Copacabana or Ipanema, for starters.”

“That may be in the realm of possibility,” Neal hedged without actually answering the question.

“How many other beaches have you frequented over the past years, Neal? I’m just curious and maybe a little bit envious,” Peter said with a soft smile.

“Hypothetically, there may have been a few throughout several European and Mediterranean countries,” Neal replied as he looked Peter directly in the eye. “Maybe it would be prudent if I kept that theoretical information to myself right now.”

Peter realized Neal was telling him, in a veiled way, that he no longer trusted his handler, and he may have suspected that Kramer and Peter were colluding to take him down. Suddenly, Peter felt the onus of guilt once more, and he didn’t have a clue how to make things as they once were. He didn’t want to risk a confrontation because he didn’t want Neal to feel backed into a corner where he would have to lie. Right now, it was better to begin rebuilding bridges by discussing safer, more mundane things.

“So, Neal, is living beside the ocean your dream for the future?” Peter asked casually.

“I haven’t thought that far ahead,” Neal replied indifferently.

“What’s the appeal, besides the obvious?” Peter pushed. “I would think that your restless, quixotic nature and thirst for adventure would demand more stimulation.”

“Maybe you don’t really know me, Peter,” Neal replied almost sadly. “Beaches can be comforting and soothing with the endless rhythm of the waves lapping at your feet and calming your soul. They can put things into perspective when you realize how vast the ocean is, and you suddenly comprehend that you’re just as small and inconsequential as a grain of sand. It makes you rethink what is really important to you and what you should jettison like flotsam from your life.”

That quietly whispered statement cut a painful swathe across Peter’s soul, and he wondered if Neal considered him to be the inconsequential wreckage that could be sacrificed and tossed overboard. He wondered how he could ever make amends and regain Neal’s affection and trust.

Some weeks later, maybe the first step in making things right was an almost indiscernible movement of Peter’s head back and forth on the steps of the Federal Building. Kramer was livid, like a dog deprived of his bone, and Peter knew there would be consequences. Nonetheless, a determined and repentant savior vowed to somehow find Neal again. His gut, or maybe it was his heart, urged him to start with some, as yet unknown, glorious beach. That’s where a troubled young man, who felt betrayed, would seek the peace he craved. Undoubtedly, that refuge would be far from the duplicitousness and dangers of New York. Eventually, Peter would zero in on an archipelago that stretched far out into the Atlantic Ocean off the coast of Africa. Without any hesitation, Peter was on the move. He simply couldn’t allow Neal to discard him from a life they were meant to live, hopefully together.


End file.
